The Vulcan Under the Bus
by The Accidental Proverbialist
Summary: Once again, Mr. Spock takes it upon himself to save his Captain - from himself. One shot with a side of crack. Non-slash.


If you think I own any of this or make money off it, I've got a timeshare on Rigel 7 that you'll just love.

* * *

Several months into the five-year mission, crewmembers were more at ease with each other, and finally felt able to relax and be themselves when off duty. Gradually, one by one, musical instruments came out of storage. Singing voices were tentatively tested. Spontaneous jam sessions occasionally broke out in the recreation area.

Nobody knew how or when it happened, but sometime near the end of that first year, these unplanned outbursts of self-expression morphed into a regular event. Eventually it was common knowledge that on any given Friday evening, an assortment of crewmembers would be on hand in the rec deck, eagerly awaiting anyone in need of an audience.

Surprising – to those who noticed and gave it any thought – was the undisputable fact that Mr. Spock, Captain Kirk's Vulcan First Officer and Science Officer, widely regarded as cold and emotionless, was in attendance nearly every Friday. Occasionally he would provide accompaniment for Lieutenant Uhura's amazing vocals, his skilled fingers moving easily on the Vulcan lyre. The only time another crewman requested that Spock perform with him, the First Officer had seen no reason to refuse. The original version of _Barely Breathing_, a song from late 20th century Earth, had been performed on guitar, but Spock was easily able to adapt for the lyre. This endeavor led Spock to begin his own study of Terran music from that era. He was fascinated by the variety, and set about learning a number of tunes – purely for research purposes, of course. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Jim Kirk also had an interest in music from that time period.

Nobody suspected the First Officer had any ulterior motive in attending these sessions. But, if he knew his Captain – and Mr. Spock _did_, indeed, _know_ his Captain – then it was only a matter of time until said Captain made an appearance at one of these events. And, knowing his _Captain_, it would not be merely as part of the audience. And again, knowing _his _Captain, Spock was perfectly aware that James T. Kirk could not carry a tune even if it was in a bucket fitted with an anti-grav unit. The First Officer knew he should be in attendance when this inevitable event happened, and being Spock, of course he was correct.

The one and only time that Spock – due to unavoidable circumstances involving subordinates, samples and the science lab – arrived late, he came in about halfway into the Captain's performance. He immediately surmised that the recorded accompaniment used by the captain was what had been known as "karaoke." Spock had previously come to the conclusion that karaoke recordings were for singing performances, but perhaps he had been mistaken, as what his Captain was doing would be more accurately described as speaking, and occasionally…shouting?

As the Captain plunged toward his very _enthusiastic_ finale, Spock gauged the reaction of the crewmembers in attendance. Approximately 28% were attempting to conceal laughter, while the rest were sitting in what Spock could only describe as abject horror.

"MISTER TAMBOURINE MAN!" yelled James T. Kirk, Captain of the starship Enterprise, just as the recording ended. He opened his eyes – he'd closed them during the final portion of the song – and looked around at the absolutely silent audience. Of all the performances Spock had observed, such a reaction had never occurred. As a smattering of polite applause erupted, Jim Kirk excused himself, slunk off the stage and tried not to look like he was running as he fled the room.

Before anyone had a chance to say or do anything else, before another performer worked up the nerve follow in the wake of the captain's colossal embarrassment, Spock – lyre already in hand – strode to the front of the room and did what he was always prepared to do: He fell on his sword. Threw himself under the bus. For his Captain.

Accompanying himself on the Vulcan lyre, Mr. Spock performed one of the old Terran songs he'd recently learned – a rousing ballad. Even though he'd played for them many times, he had never before sung in front of anyone on the Enterprise. He sang a story that told of the life and deeds of an admirable little creature who bravely did what needed to be done, even if he was very uncomfortable in doing it and would much rather stay in his comfortable hole in the shire, because in doing so, he would be saving something important to him. To Spock, it seemed the perfect song for the occasion.

When he came to the end of _The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins_, Mr. Spock made a deep, exaggerated bow, then stood to regard the audience – the smile in his eyes never quite reaching his lips, and a single eyebrow lifted to his hairline, daring anyone to respond. Said audience sat in disbelief for several moments before quietly filing out.

Not a word was ever spoken by any crewmember about any of that evening's performances. Nobody was completely sure it had ever really happened, and if it had…who would believe it?

* * *

A/N: So, this idea was bouncing around my noggin a while, inspired by the obvious. But, if it's not obvious to you, then you must never have seen or heard William Shatner's performance of _Mister Tambourine Man_, or Leonard Nimoy's _The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins_. If this is the case, you must Google them. Watch them, at least twice through. Trust me, just do it. They're really fun in an amazingly bad way.


End file.
